But Schmitt’s work shows that war serves another purpose in the political imagination: it binds people together, and brings with it a sense of purpose and belonging. War creates a cohesive identity; as the enemy comes clearly into view, so do we.

This rallying fantasy is innate to nationalist movements. Immigration is relayed in the language of “invasion.” Internal opponents are attacked on the grounds of “treason.” Other enemies, including leftists and minorities, are construed as wanting to wreck the nation. In Hungary, the name of Prime Minister Viktor Orban’s party Fidesz evokes the Latin fides, fidelity, or loyalty. At Jair Bolsonaro’s inauguration, the former military captain held up a Brazilian flag and declared that it would “never be red, unless our blood is needed to keep it yellow and green.” It’s not only Brexiteers who have war in their dreaming.

In a world where strong social bonds and feelings of belonging are elusive, the psychological certainties of war offer perverse relief. Schmitt saw a similar alienation plaguing his own era. His belief that liberalism was to blame has always resonated with left-wing thinkers, from Walter Benjamin to Slavoj Zizek. He praised Marx for his “mighty friend-enemy grouping” between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. But his focus on foreign threats has ensured that Schmitt’s natural heirs are almost all on the right.